


Of Unsound Mind

by VampyrePrince



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood and Violence, Disturbing Themes, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Gay Sex, M/M, Mental Instability, Smut, smut with plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8456401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampyrePrince/pseuds/VampyrePrince
Summary: He should have never confided in Babette. Not only because her tongue was loose, but because the very conversation had opened a line of thought that wouldn't have mattered otherwise. Vayne had been perfectly content going about his adventures, happy that Cicero was safe and bound to him from harm's way. It was going to remain their secret that no one needed to know, simply because that's all it was meant to be. The Dragonborn hadn't given any of his thoughts for the jester introspection and never really meant to. To him, Cicero was family and was better protected close to him. So much for that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not madly in love with Cicero, no...  
> *Cackles*  
> This story has been bugging me in the back of my mind forever, and especially now that the Special Edition is out (unfortunately without the 'marry Cicero mod'), I felt inspired to keep writing this. A lot of it is based on actual in-game events, quotes, and my own gameplay. Some is for the sake of storytelling and creative license. Hopefully you guys have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

“You married the jester?”

Babette cringed as she sat in her chair. She had been reading an old volume that the Dragonborn had brought back with him from one of his travels. It outlined the old ways of the Dark Brotherhood, and it was a read that the Dragonborn required all in the sanctuary to begin getting acquainted with. In his past life, he had been a member of the Dark Brotherhood as well, and his distaste at the current state of things within the Brotherhood made his mouth go sour. Things needed to change. 

“Be silent, Babette. It isn't something to fuss over-”

“Of course it is. Ewww.” She scoffed and threw the book across the table. “What do you see in him? Half of us here can't even stand the man. He's an absolute earache!”

“I would explain my reasons, but I doubt you would understand them.” The Dragonborn sighed and fell into the chair opposite Babette. They were, thankfully, nestled in a quiet corner of the sanctuary where none could overhear. “Cicero is-”

“Completely insane. I mean, we all have our quirks, but does he even... you know.”

“No, I don't know. Does he what?” The Dragonborn huffed in annoyance.

“Does he even go to bed with you?”

The Dragonborn's mouth fell open and he brought his hand to his mouth as he averted her gaze. That was actually one thing he hadn't thought of until then. Of course he had some sort of feelings for Cicero, but it hadn't crossed his mind to act on those sorts of things. He hadn't even noticed any sort of sexual attraction to the jester before and it made him question himself for the first time since their marriage.

To be completely honest, he hadn't even known what matter of curse came over him when Cicero had returned to the Dawnstar sanctuary. He had spared the jester when he was supposed to kill him - something halting him and his blade as he watched the injured, or not so injured, man on the floor. Sure, Cicero had betrayed them and tried to kill every last one of them in line with Astrid, but not in cold blood. Cicero had been as angry about Astrid's ruling over the Brotherhood as much as the Dragonborn had been; his motive was very clear. His loyalty, although slightly creepy, to the Night Mother was admirable and stood above everything else. So felt the Dragonborn, and so influenced his decision. He left Cicero there on the floor, not knowing rather the decision would come back to haunt him or if the man would be gone forever.

The jester had returned to him as he dismounted Shadowmere for the first time outside of the Dawnstar sanctuary. For a moment he had been made a fool, Cicero feigning himself a traitor before falling into a fit of giggles. Something in the Dragonborn broke then. The clench he had felt in his heart when he had believed Cicero's joke had surprised him, and the relief upon hearing the high pitched obnoxious laughter made him dizzy. For some damn reason, he cared about the lunatic in a way that made him feel sick. 

They had gone on a few adventures together after that. “Cicero and the Listener, on the hunt!” he'd say before they left the sanctuary, all too happy to accompany his leader onto the path of danger. The jester was definitely a force to be reckoned with when it came to the blade and he had proven to be very useful.

And then there were the awkward moments when Cicero would stop suddenly while they were traveling, breaking off into some demented rhyme that made the Dragonborn wonder if he was going mad himself. It was oddly entertaining and he would stop and turn to watch, hiding a smile as the jester went off to ramble about a baker and his eventual murder: “And I said to the baker, 'You're not dead! You're a faker!' But if that's your wish, I'll oblige.” It was those sorts of stories that entertained the Dragonborn the most.

And now where he sat he could see Cicero across the way as he spoke diligently to the Night Mother, still hoping to hear her answer him back. He was brought out of his thoughts by a child's annoyed grumble, looking back to Babette to see her judging him with her eyes.

“You didn't answer my question.”

“That's not the kind of thing I feel comfortable discussing with a child.”

“I'm _not_ a child, you know. You keep forgetting that I've been alive for over three hundred years.”

“You're in a child's body. I often forget. And no.”

“No? No what?”

“He doesn't... _We_ haven't...” The Dragonborn sighed and leaned over the table as his stomach turned into knots. The vampire child seemed amused.

“Are you actually blushing? Can Dark Elves blush?”

“Don't be ridiculous!” The Dragonborn stood angrily and knocked his chair over in the process as he left the area. Babette watched as he crossed to the front of the room to approach Cicero, her smile widening.

“You can't keep it a secret forever.”

*****

“Cicero? What are you doing?” The Dragonborn tried his best to hide his look of disgust as Cicero leaned in close to the Night Mother's body, running his fingers along her neck.

“Oh dear. It seems I must care for our Night Mother before she is in too rough a state.”

“She'll be fine. Stop, I beg you.” The Dragonborn stood close beside Cicero and took his hand, pulling it back and turned the jester to face him. “Listen, we need to discuss something.”

“Discussion? Did the Night Mother impart something important that you must share with Cicero?”

“No, that isn't what I meant.” The Dragonborn glanced across the room to see Babette watching them carefully. He dropped Cicero's hand and nodded his head to the side. “Follow me. I'd like a bit of privacy from prying eyes.”

“Of course. Whatever you ask, Listener.”

“Ah, about that.” The Dragonborn grew silent for a moment as they crossed the dining room into a long hall. “We're... together now. Please call me Vayne.”

“Vayne. It has a nice ring to it, I'll admit! Vayne the Listener.” Cicero giggled gleefully as they entered a large chamber that contained a king-size bed surrounded by tapestries illustrating the Black Hand on the walls. The Dragonborn closed the heavy door behind them and remained in front of it for a time, watching as Cicero crossed his arms and waited for whatever he had been dragged in there for. He seemed too eager to please.

After a moment of awkward silence, Vayne pushed away from the door and approached Cicero, his nerves causing a lump to rise in his throat. "You are aware of what marriage warrants, correct?" 

“Of course! Cicero likes you very much, and will always remain loyal to you!”

“Yes, there's that, but you see-” Vayne had fought dragon after dragon, fulfilled his duty as assassin a dozen times over, and come face to face with some of the most horrendous creatures Skyrim had to spit out at him. So for the love of Sithis, why he couldn't speak to a damn lunatic who wasn't even on the same planet at the moment baffled him. “There is much more to it than that. There are other things that must enter into the equation that would not have been appropriate before.”

“I cannot think of a thing that would be inappropriate, Listener. You and I have seen much in the way of glorious bloodshed, surely we have no secrets?” The jester blinked in surprise as Vayne reached forth to lift his chin with a deep green forefinger.

“There are many secrets left between us. That is not becoming of a marriage.”

“What secrets?”

“Do you remember during the ceremony when we kissed, albeit briefly.” It was a most painful memory to recall. It had been nothing short of an awkward, inexperienced peck. Not to mention the awkward stares due to Cicero's choice of attire.

“Of course Cicero remembers. It was all part of the ceremony. Formalities.”

“That is what those who are married do. They kiss much more than that. And much better.” The last sentence was laced with quiet frustration. “You have never kissed anyone before that have you, Cicero?”

“I have not had reason to do so.” The jester had seemed to sober slightly as the finger beneath his chin urged it up further.

“I feared as much. You've never been with another, either?”

“I've been with many, Listener.”

“You do not understand.” Vayne slipped a hand low to rest at Cicero's hip, his lips drifting dangerously close to the jester's. “Intimacy is strange to you, isn't it? Or perhaps you've entertained the idea of intimacy more often than you should with our Night Mother.”

“C-Cicero's intentions with the Night Mother are pure! If only she would speak to me. I do so envy your ability to speak with her,” he whined.

“And what would you like her to tell you?” Vayne's pulse was thumping faster with his heart as he brushed their lips together. “That you're a good boy? That she's thankful to have someone so eager to care for her?”

"That-" Cicero's words were interrupted as their lips connected, the kiss awkward and short before Vayne pulled back to look at the man standing before him. Uncertainty and an almost childlike innocence were written all over Cicero's face. Vayne hadn't expected anything less. 

“That would make you very happy?”

“Very – very much so.”

“I thought as much.” Vayne laughed quietly as he dived in for another kiss, this time nipping and teasing the lips against his own. He dared to coax them open with his tongue and was surprised when Cicero willingly complied. His hand left the jester's chin and slid around to his other hip, squeezing as the sudden willingness overtook Cicero's body. It seemed even childish lunatics had their calling to natural urges like everyone else.

Breathing became heavy as everything seemed to change. It was a silent realization that their relationship would never be the same again, and it was only about to become that much more interesting. The fact that Cicero was even enjoying what was happening – his gloved hands coming up to curl around Vayne's shoulders – was oddly intoxicating. The Dragonborn felt as if he were corrupting something once pure, as odd as it would be to label an assassin as pure. He dared to slide his hand around to Cicero's backside, smiling against eager lips as a sharp intake of breath amused him. 

It was then that Vayne felt a pressure in the front of his head and he pulled back reluctantly. He closed his eyes and tried to will away the creeping fire that had crawled up into his stomach, eager to eat him alive. “Cicero, we must stop.”

“I do not understand.” The jester's voice had dropped to its rare low register, further fanning the flames.

_'Another has prayed to the Night Mother.'_

“It's the Night Mother. She's speaking to me.”

“What did she say?!” Cicero instantly perked up and fell back into his usual demeanor, eyes wide with childlike excitement.

“There's a new contract I must carry out. Forgive me, but this will have to wait.”

“Cicero will come with you!” The jester slid away from Vayne and approached the bedroom door. “Cicero and the Listener, on the hunt again!” He giggled as he exited the room out into the sanctuary, leaving Vayne standing still awestruck. He had never kissed anyone like that before, and he was still wrapping his head around the fact that Cicero had actually responded. Rather well too.

He brought his fingers up to ghost across his lips, feeling the now puffy and warm surface. It was the point of no return; things couldn't just be left at that. He spun around and left his room after Cicero, approaching the Night Mother to hear the details of the contract. He couldn't avoid Babette's knowing eyes as he passed her to leave the sanctuary, his eagerness to leave clouding over all else. He needed fresh air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We'll make a proper assassin out of you again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Babette...

They were headed to Riften as the sun was setting. It would be a long travel, but with Shadowmere it made things more bearable. Cicero hadn't made any complaints about walking beside Vayne and the horse as they went – the jester having an unbelievable amount of energy and stamina. At times the Dragonborn suspected the jester wasn't even mortal, but mortal he definitely was.

It wasn't until the sun had completely set before Vayne glanced down to Cicero, who had taken to humming happily as he remained at his Listener's side. “Aren't your feet getting tired?”

“Hm? Cicero can walk for miles before that would happen.”

“Even you must have your limits.” Vayne halted Shadowmere's steady trot and held a hand down to Cicero. “Come on.”

The jester quirked an eyebrow and stared up at the Dragonborn, unsure of what exactly to do. He lifted his hand cautiously and watched as it was tugged upward, his body soon climbing up onto the horse to sit behind Vayne. They were off again as if the pause hadn't happened.

“Listener?” Cicero's voice was hesitant.

"Hm? What is it?" Vayne felt gloved hands tightening around his waist and it brought back the warm feeling in his stomach from earlier. He tried to ignore it and the jester pressing against his back. 

“Why do you want to do these things with me?”

“Isn't it obvious? I like you more than I probably should.” It was meant to be a lighthearted statement, but Vayne felt it hit too true deep within.

“Cicero isn't... _familiar_ with ways of affection.”

“You said you liked me when we agreed to be married. Isn't that a show of affection?”

“I – I thought you were doing that to protect me. Surely the others would not have allowed Cicero to remain otherwise.”

“You thought-” Vayne paused and furrowed his brow. “So you think it was nothing more than that?”

"Nothing more. Nothing less." For a moment the jester was back to his sing-song voice. "Cicero is grateful, but you do not have to do these things." 

“Cicero, I would not have required marriage to you if it were only that reason alone. I am the Listener and the one in charge. They would have let you stay regardless at my request.”

“But no one has ever-” Cicero paused as Vayne lifted one of his gloved hands to his lips.

"You are aggravating, childish, insane, and more than most could handle.” The dark elf smiled as he felt the hand in his tense. “There is something about you that I cannot explain. From the moment you returned I felt an overwhelming need to protect you – as if your life had been put into my hands when I spared you." Vayne placed Cicero's hand on his chest where it remained, returning his focus to guiding Shadowmere down the rocky stretch of forest road. "You remind me that through all of this darkness there is still laughter to be had. I'm very fond of you, Cicero." 

The jester was silent as his hand pressed tighter against the Dragonborn's chest. Rather he was in thought or lost to the void of madness once more, the sound of the insects around them chirping and clicking made the moment one of the most peaceful they'd had. It was only when Cicero broke the silence that Vayne was brought back from his fantasy of peace. “All of that... Is it true?”

“I wouldn't have spoken if it wasn't.”

“You care for Cicero?”

"Very much. Do you care for me?" Vayne's stomach was in knots again. It was a conversation that was better suited before a marriage rather than after. Guilt crept into the Dragonborn's conscience as he realized that Cicero had not fully understood what a romantic relationship was. Would he have married Vayne with that knowledge was unknown and a bit unsettling in that moment. It was very like Vayne to act first and think later. It was exactly how he'd gotten involved with the Dark Brotherhood to begin with. The thrill overruled proper judgment. 

“To kiss you was enjoyable. Cicero had never done that before.”

“Never? You could have fooled me.”

“I would very much like to again.”

Vayne smiled and steered Shadowmere to the left into a gathering of trees against the side of a mountain. There he slid off the horse and took a moment to stretch, his elven ears picking up the sound of Cicero joining him. They had some time to kill, so to speak. The contact wasn't going anywhere and neither was the target, and they very well couldn't keep traveling without a moment to rest. Although the horse was otherworldly and immortal, surely Shadowmere would also enjoy a small break. 

Vayne backed up to lean against the large rocks, silently beckoning for Cicero to join him. From now on it would be up to the jester to decide. He needed to erase the guilt that kept nagging at him – to know for certain how Cicero really felt about everything. The answer became clear as the jester slowly approached him, the darkness surrounding them making it difficult to see between the trees. He welcomed Cicero by placing his hands on the jester's waist and pulled him forward until their bodies were flush against each other. He would not make the first move this time.

It started out slow and hesitant as Cicero attempted to recreate what they had done earlier. As it had before, it quickly progressed into an open mouthed kiss full of a want for more. Vayne became very aware of the arousal pressing against his own, partly amused that the jester was even capable of that kind of reaction. Then again, everything about Cicero had surprised him lately, and any ounce of guilt he had harbored ebbed away with his racing pulse. He cared too much for the lunatic. It was as if he was completely mad himself, but in that moment he welcomed that madness.

Vayne allowed his hands to wander down to grip into the jester's back end – the uniform he always wore much tighter than the Dragonborn ever noticed before. It gained a sharp intake of breath from Cicero, who had pressed himself tighter against Vayne, his hands coming up to rest on a pair of hard and muscular shoulders. The Dragonborn slid his hands up to his shoulders and forced Cicero's down to his hips, returning his own to the jester's backside. Cicero then pulled his lips back.

“Cicero likes you very much.” His voice had dropped to a low register again, causing Vayne to involuntarily shift his hips against the jester's. His hands began to wander around to Cicero's stomach before he stopped and closed his eyes.

“We should continue to Riften. With both of us riding Shadowmere, we should make it by dawn.” Vayne slid from between the jester and the rocks and approached Shadowmere on the other side of the trees. He did not want things to happen that way. It was too soon and in the wrong place. If he had any hope of humanizing Cicero beyond his lunacy, he would have to be more careful in his approach.

The jester joined him atop Shadowmere and they set off once more, the constant bounce from the gallop not making their position any easier to deal with.

*****

As suspected, give or take a few hours, they arrived in Riften. After stabling Shadowmere outside the town (he seemed to frighten the stable hands, but they weren't about to turn down the gold for stabling such a creature), Cicero and Vayne pushed the heavy gate doors aside to step into the thieves' capital. The sun was bright but seemed to forget that the grungy town even existed. Shadows were cast in dark alleys and beneath multi-story wooden buildings. The small marketplace was not wanting for customers, however, and the usual suspects were selling their goods. Vayne waved to the young woman, Fastred, as he passed. 

He had helped her some time ago in deciding who to marry, and aided in her escape with the man. He still hadn't any idea how her father had responded or if the two were even safe from the man, but it was good to see Fastred and Bassianus happy, leaning over the banister to look out onto the water together. It was odd that as an assassin the Dragonborn would feel such sentiments for others or even care, but inside he wanted to do as much good as he was able while committing silent and just crimes beneath the watchful guard's eyes. Most of the time they would just look the other way anyway. A scream in the night was not an uncommon thing, what with the vampires coming out of hiding more recently.

"This is it. The Riften Fishery." Vayne held out his hand for Cicero to come to a halt and he surveyed the area. He had mixed feelings about this contract, but it was to be done regardless of his feelings on the matter. Quite often the target had done something terribly wrong or was escaping some sort of debt, or was simply a tyrant. In this case, the description of a poor fishwife unsettled him. 

“Ooh, do we get to kill someone here?” Cicero was a bit too joyful at the prospect.

“Keep your voice down. It's a wonder we haven't been caught by authorities thus far with your squealing.” An idea popped into Vayne's head at that, and he turned to look at Cicero. “You're quite good at being a distraction, aren't you?”

“I do put on a good show.”

“The marketplace, wait for me there. You have a song to sing, don't you?”

"Oh! Clever, Listener! A distraction, although I am jealous that your blade will taste her blood." The childlike pout had made another appearance that portrayed a disturbing innocence behind the killer. 

“This will be quick. Play the jester and draw a crowd to the center. I will then take care of the target.”

They split ways – Cicero to the marketplace and Vayne to the waterfront. He felt more at ease attempting stealth without the obnoxious jester tailing him. Although dear to his heart, the man was often a risky companion where no mistakes could be made. To maintain his trust with town guards, he need not be seen or outed as a member of the Dark Brotherhood.

Vayne slipped his dark hood over his head to cover the sides of his face as he dropped down to the docks and hid in the shadows. The Blade of Woe shivered a spiral of energy up his arm as he grasped its handle, the blade recognizing him as an old friend. It was the first blade he had received from Lucien in his last reincarnation and the last from the Brotherhood in his current. It had seen many violent acts and seemed to harness the energy of them all combined. 

There. An older woman who was rather worse for wear. Her hair was a dirty white mop about her face and her clothing was in tatters. An urchin of the streets no doubt. Perhaps this was doing her a favor; to die hungry in the streets without dignity was surely a worse fate. Vayne readied his blade as he heard Cicero begin to chant one of his strange stories for the crowd above.

He crept from the shadows and grabbed the woman by her waist, pulling her back down and slicing her throat with finesse. She had no chance to scream before she was limp in Vayne's arms, and he carefully dumped her body into the water around them. He stood once more in the light and observed the blood on his blade glistening in the overcast sunlight.

The image of her body sinking into the murky water was in his peripheral vision, and he couldn't help but remain fixated on the red spreading out around it. It was a morbid art upon nature – one that was appreciated by very few. His fascination with the color of blood and its thick tendrils as it spread out in all directions was a thing of beauty. The first time he saw it drip onto the cold snow and seep into the crystals he was taken with silence. Something so simple was enough to make him stop and admire, and be thankful that he could still see the art in the smallest of things. Perhaps it was a clear sign that he had lost his mind, or an indication that he was spending too much time with Lucien Lachance's ghost; his lover in another life.

The sounds of footsteps and annoyed voices came tapping overhead and down the waterfront stairs. It was Vayne's cue to slip the blade into its holster quickly and slide his hood back, jogging up the stairway opposite to find Cicero browsing a stand in the marketplace. Of course the jester would have gotten distracted by sharp and shiny things. It was like looking after a child. "Cicero!" 

"Listener! Methinks I've found a new blade worth trying out." Cicero broke into giggles as the shop-keeper fell silent, clearly disturbed at the jester's madness. Vayne took the dagger from Cicero's hand to avoid any mishaps, paid the shopkeeper, and bid them farewell as he led Cicero to the town gates. Once there, he handed the blade to the jester and crossed his arms. 

“I would ask you if you are mad, but that's a moot point.”

"Cicero is very thankful for the new blade. I have not had the chance to explore a new one." 

“You've never been to a marketplace?”

“Not in quite a long time, no. I have always remained at the Night Mother's side. Never leaving until I met you.”

“Perhaps getting you out more will cure a bit of your madness.” Vayne smiled, amused. “Come. Let's find an inn on the way back and have a drink or two. We'll make a proper assassin out of you once again.”

*****

The sanctuary was lit with candles as another evening approached. Babette remained in her favorite corner, reading the books that Vayne had asked of her. The others only pretended to humor him before tossing them to the side. In her near two hundred of years of existence, Babette found it a rather arrogant thing to disregard a volume of knowledge. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she was wise beyond any measure that anyone could comprehend, or perhaps it was because she saw the good that the new Listener and leader was trying to do for the Brotherhood. She may have given him a lot of grief, but it was only because she was growing fond of him.

Nazir approached her table and huffed a silent laugh. His baritone voice pierced the silence that echoed around them beneath the torture chamber's groaning. “You're reading that crap?”

“You're a fool to ignore the old ways. If Astrid had adhered to them, none of our troubles would have happened.”

“You really believe that would have been the answer? Astrid was a traitor.” The Redguard scowled and sat opposite Babette as she continued reading, although still listening.

“She would have been better guided if she had shown more respect for the Night Mother. Sithis would have fared her better.”

“Now that's a good one. Sithis – sparing.”

"To his own, yes." Babette looked over the tall book. "Vayne has done well for this sanctuary and for us. You should pay him better respect." 

"Says the brat who gives him hell all the time." Nazir laughed and leaned on his elbow. "Don't tell me you're fond of the guy." 

Babette blushed lightly and slammed her book down, baring her fangs. “Of course not! He's as loony as the jester!” Babette sobered instantly, her childlike urge to mischief overtaking her. “Nazir...”

“Hm? What's up with you?”

“Perhaps you should speak with Vayne upon his return. I believe he has something important to share.”

“And you know this how?” Nazir raised an eyebrow. Surely the Listener would have come to him first, as he believed them to be something equivalent to friends. Babette smiled before lifting her book again.

“I hear things and he tells me things. He trusts me, so I will not betray that trust. However, it is an interesting bit of information.”

“I will speak with him then. If this is one of your tricks-”

“A trick? What reason would I have to do something like that? I'm not creating trouble. I speak the truth. Now go. Leave me to my reading.”

Nazir frowned and stood, approaching the steps to enter the dining hall. They were all in this together so he knew Babette wouldn't lie to him about anything important. Of course, being assassins they had their secrets, but they were also a family. If Babette felt the need to speak it then it was worth noting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am describing the lunatic!” Vayne stood from his chair and looked down at Nazir. “It's Cicero. The jester has the other ring.”

The door to the sanctuary swung open as Vayne dragged Cicero inside, the jester still coming down from his drunken stupor. He steered them toward the bedroom, his intentions only to let the man rest and sober up, but Cicero pushed him away and headed toward the Night Mother's coffin. Vayne decided to not fight him on the matter, most likely robbing the jester of a drunken hallucination that he had indeed heard the Mother's voice. He headed toward the dining hall, sobering up at last and ready to get something else besides ale into his stomach.

“Welcome back, Listener. Good kill?” Nazir turned to see the dark elf as he approached the table.

“As usual. Nothing that was challenging by any means.”

“I see. Sit. Dine with me.” Nazir held a hand to the chair beside him, making room for Vayne to join him. “You smell of cheap drink.”

“I usually go for a drink after a successful contract.”

“You and Cicero?”

“Yeah. I don't think the guy's really drank that much before. He's still coming off it.” Vayne laughed as he poured himself some water.

“You really enjoy spending time with that lunatic, but I suppose someone has to.” Nazir laughed and bit off a piece of bread. “Babette told me I should speak with you.”

“She did? In regards to what?”

“She wasn't clear. She said it was something of interest. Something you confided in her.”

Vayne stopped as he lifted the goblet to his lips, staring down at the water in the cup and his red eyes reflected on its surface. That little blood sucker. “I have no idea what she could mean by that.”

“I respect that everyone has secrets, my brother. Babette would not have spoken if she did not feel it important.”

“It's not something I wish to divulge. It's-”

“Is it to do with the ring on your finger? The ring of Mara, if I'm not mistaken.”

Vayne quickly took a drink of his water to fill his mouth. He'd hoped no one would have noticed and he hadn't exactly remembered that the thing was on his finger anyway. He didn't want to remove it, for it held certain magical properties useful to him and his spellwork, but it seemed he was being cornered due to its presence. “Merely for spellwork.”

"There is one way to obtain that ring, brother, and I doubt you murdered for it. So, who is it? Who is the lucky girl?" 

“Nazir-”

“There is no shame in marriage. Arnbjorn was a married assassin. It isn't unheard of.”

“It is a complicated affair.”

“And this is a discussion between men; brothers.”

Vayne set his goblet down and stared at the table, his appetite gone. It's not that he feared judgment for marrying a man. The Dark Brotherhood was beyond such trivialities. It was the fact that he was the sole person in the sanctuary who treated Cicero as something other than a pest. The others could not understand, and perhaps it would make him seem weak. Softhearted. Although he most definitely had a good heart, he had to maintain his tough exterior around the others. He would lose respect if they found him in any way soft.

Vayne took a deep breath and glanced at Nazir. The man was waiting for an answer. “My marriage was not to a woman.”

“And a man would make no difference. We are beyond such judgments here.”

“This I know.” Vayne filled his then empty goblet with wine. He was all nerves again, although it wasn't visible. He had become quite good at hiding his weaknesses from others. Nazir watched him curiously as Vayne poured a portion of the wine in his goblet down his throat.

“Something is troubling you. Was this not a marriage that you were content with?”

“Not at all. In fact, I was more than willing. Perhaps I am mad myself for even enjoying the thought.”

“The only madness here is upstairs speaking to a coffin.” Nazir laughed as he poured himself some wine. “Come brother, what ails you?”

"What ails me is the fact that I can no longer trust a certain prepubescent bloodsucker." Vayne practically growled the words as he gripped his goblet. 

“Babette is one for mischief. Surely you were aware of that.”

"Oh, I am very well aware of that now." Vayne finished the wine in his goblet and fixated his eyes on the wooden table's surface. "I don't know why I'm so fond of him. Why I spared him. Why I feel anything other than annoyance toward him." 

“Have you spared a target?” Nazir became serious at once, eyeing clear into Vayne's soul.

“No – not a target. He was the only one who made sense. He wanted things to be the way they once were. He knew what it meant to be a part of the Brotherhood, to serve the Night Mother and Sithis and the five tenets. His loyalty is unwavering and that in itself was a rarity at the time.”

"Forgive me, but," Nazir took a deep breath and averted his gaze awkwardly to the side, "you sound as if you're describing the lunatic." 

“I _am_ describing the lunatic!” Vayne stood from his chair and looked down at Nazir. “It's Cicero. The jester has the other ring.” Without bothering to catch a glimpse of Nazir's reaction Vayne escaped upstairs to where Babette remained sitting, no doubt having heard everything with her supernatural ears. “You _urchin_.” She broke into giggles.

“It would have come out sooner or later. I just helped you along.”

Vayne turned to where Cicero was standing before the coffin, once again running his fingers down the Night Mother's face. He approached the jester at once, taking the man by the arm and pulling him back into the master bedroom - slamming the door behind them. Cicero stood speechless as sobriety hit him at last. “Well, they know.”

“Who, Listener? And what?”

“Us.” Vayne took Cicero's hand and lifted it to show him the ring over his black-gloved hand. “Nazir knows.”

“Splendid! Perhaps we can have a celebration!”

“No, out of the question!” The Dragonborn dropped Cicero's hand and pulled off his hat, throwing it onto the bed. “Do you ever take that thing off?”

“But Cicero made it-”

"No, stop. Stop talking about yourself in the third person." Vayne paused and gazed upon the jester, the man actually quite attractive without the silly hat. His red hair fell forward around his face just below his jawline without its presence. It seemed to paint an entirely different picture. Cicero wasn't just the jester anymore but the man Cicero, a rare glimpse at what he would be without the madness. 

Vayne couldn't stop his hands as he pulled off the jester's gloves, the ring carefully thrown onto the bed beside them. He lifted the man's hands to observe them in their perfection. What had he expected beneath everything? Surely not the normal man that he was discovering. He didn't stop there in his haze from the wine. Moving closer to Cicero he reached around the jester's back, unhooking his outfit to pull the top half down. Vayne then stepped back, observing the average man standing before him. Cicero seemed nervous and unsure of what to do. It then hit the dark elf in his haze as to what he was doing. "Cicero, forgive me." 

“Is my Listener satisfied?” He seemed like a small, scared puppy. He had probably never been in such a situation in his life with as conservative as he was. It was twice as painful to see him in such a timid state. The mad, annoying jester stripped of his being, standing before someone he had grown very attracted to, baring himself as if for some greater judgment.

Vayne felt that familiar guilty desire rising with him; even more so now that he was able to see the normal Cicero – the surprisingly attractive man beneath the jester suit. He felt his pulse begin to race and his stomach churn with warmth. But Cicero was not in a state to be ravaged by a repressed beast. Vayne needed to leave before he did something he would later regret. He turned his back on Cicero and approached the door. "Get dressed. I will give you your privacy." 

Without another word he left the room and closed the door behind him. Falling back against its heavy wooden surface, he took the time to breathe. No. No one could understand what madness had gripped him. The Cicero he knew was not the Cicero the others knew. They could never possibly see the human being beneath the jester's mask.

*****

Cicero wasn't always insane. It was something that very few knew other than the Dragonborn because of the journals he had been lucky to find. The jester was once a perfectly sane Imperial man. He had taken to writing a journal during his time as a member of the Dark Brotherhood. An active assassin in those times, he was a respected member of their ranks.

The Brotherhood then began to fall. There were but a few sanctuaries left, and with the Night Mother's tomb desecrated, it was feared that the Brotherhood would dwindle even further. It was then that Cicero was named Keeper of the Night Mother, but in his desire to fulfill one last contract before becoming Keeper his sanity met its fate. A court jester was the spirit that kept him company during his time of loneliness. The laughter that haunted him and pleased him all the same, and his desire to become the Listener when there was no longer one to hear the Night Mother's word. 

The spirit's laughter through the void eventually caused Cicero to snap. Rather it was because of the confinement or the creeping curse of becoming a killer, he embraced his last contract's soul and very being – thankful for the laughter that brought him happiness during the silence. He became the madness and so he remained. The last loyal Dark Brotherhood member and the only to remain as loyal to the Night Mother as others had not been.

No one but the Dragonborn and Cicero knew any of this. The journals were still in Vayne's possession and he had every mind to give them back to the jester, but he couldn't help to look back upon them over and over again. It was a reminder of the man that was still there and still very much his old self. Cicero was not the jester; he was the Imperial assassin with an impeccable talent for the blade.

“Damn it!” Vayne fumbled with a glass bottle at the alchemy station, spilling a small amount of some concoction he was attempting to learn. His thoughts had strayed while he was working as they often did since he'd gotten married. Thankfully he had been alone, or so he had felt. A few of the newer initiates, having been scouted by Nazir, were mere ghosts to him drifting throughout the stone walls. Even the cries and screams from the torture chamber down below escaped his ears. 

He should have never confided in Babette. Not only because her tongue was loose, but because the very conversation had opened a line of thought that wouldn't have mattered otherwise. Vayne had been perfectly content going about his adventures, happy that Cicero was safe and bound to him from harm's way. It was going to remain their secret that no one needed to know, simply because that's all it was meant to be. The Dragonborn hadn't given any of his thoughts for the jester introspection and never really meant to. To him, Cicero was family and was better protected close to him. So much for that.

Vayne set his alchemy ingredients aside and was vaguely reminded of the old alchemist that was a member of their sanctuary before it was compromised. Festus was a magical genius in his own right, and had imparted many useful gifts of knowledge upon the then unseasoned Dragonborn. Rude and unapproachable at first, they quickly grew fond of one another. Vayne had continued to do favors for the old man until his untimely death while defending the Falkreath sanctuary. A horrible day that brought forth past life memories of a similar happening many years before. He should have known that to choose the life of an assassin would be met with much grief.

“Oh, humble Listener?” 

Vayne drew a sharp intake of breath as he was caught off guard. The jester was breathing down his neck in a way that sent a different kind of shiver up his spine. “Vayne, please, Cicero. What is it?”

“The Night Mother requires tending and I am all out of the oils she needs.” 

“Oh. You'll be needing this station. Please excuse me.” Vayne's breath caught in his throat as the jester leaned into him, his eyes darting about to make sure no one was watching them in their dark little corner. “Cicero...”

“Cicero has been thinking – at least what little thinking he could do with such a headache.” Vayne chuckled in response and brought his hand up to rest on the side of Cicero's face from behind. He turned his head to see that the jester's face was much closer than he'd realized, their lips nearly touching. 

“With as much drink as you'd consumed it's no wonder.” Vayne's words were quiet as his eyes drifted to the lips resting so close to his, his pulse racing. That mouth wouldn't have been such a problem if he had never allowed himself to taste it. It was even worse to remember what little he'd seen of the man beneath the costume. “What were you thinking?”

“Cicero thought, if the Listener ever met his end during a contract, Cicero would care for his body as well as the Night Mother's!” 

Vayne sighed in irritation and pushed himself away from the alchemy stand and the jester. No one had ever been able to turn his emotions on and then back off just as quickly. “I assure you that won't happen.” The Dragonborn huffed and spoke over his shoulder with irritation lacing his words. “I will be resting. I do not want to be bothered, your presence included.” 

He caught a brief glimpse of Cicero's worried expression as he walked calmly past the stairs to the dining room and down a long hall, descending lower into the sanctuary to hide in the master bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and climbed the few steps in the middle of the room to his bed. It was hard yet comfortable enough for him, and he relaxed with his hands behind his head. The candles hanging from the chandelier on the ceiling flickered as he stared up at them. 

He hadn't really slept well for a few days and it was beginning to catch up with him. He had always viewed sleep as a bothersome necessity that often crippled him with his lack of it. With that thought alone, he found himself drifting further and further from reality as his eyes grew heavy. His cranky demeanor turned to one of contentment as his muscles finally relaxed, and he was falling into haunting dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Before the silence...” The dark elf pushed on Cicero's chest to sit them both upright, the jester now straddling Vayne's thighs as the dark elf began to remove his armor. “Before the laughter haunted you, who were you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the tasteful smut begins.

A light rapping at the bedroom door was enough to wake Vayne. He cursed his light sleeping habits and rolled out of bed, his motions trained and quick for possible threats. The heavy door swung open to reveal Cicero worrying over his gloves, his eyes not meeting the mildly irritated red ones boring into him. “I believe I was clear when I said I did not want to be bothered.”

“Please forgive Cicero.” The jester was visibly shaken and upset, which was enough to quell the anger rising within the dark elf. 

“What is it? Has something happened?”

“May – may Cicero enter?”

“Of course. Please, come sit.” Vayne stepped aside and closed the door as the jester entered the room. He had expected Cicero to sit at the small table off to the side, but instead was climbing the steps to sit on the side of the bed. Vayne stopped as he reached the foot of the steps, deciding it best to speak from a distance. Any time he was in close proximity with the jester he could feel himself slowly losing a battle he didn't even want to fight, and every day it was getting worse. 

After a moment of silence, the Dragonborn crossed his arms and spoke. “What has you troubled, Cicero?”

“Cicero doesn't know where to begin.”

“You can begin by referring to yourself in first person.”

“Cicero – I have upset you, Listener?”

“You disobeyed my wishes, yes. I asked to be left alone to rest. You did not honor that, unless something else has happened that requires my immediate attention?” Vayne struggled to keep his voice calm and understanding. He was married to the jester and needed to remember that afforded him much more freedom than any of the others. He was his leader, yes, but also his betrothed.

“What have I done to upset you, Listener?” Cicero turned to face Vayne, his eyes worried. “Please tell Cicero so he may be punished! Surely the Night Mother would not look kindly upon her Keeper angering the Listener she has chosen.”

“You have angered me many times, this is not the first. It also won't be the last.” Vayne climbed the steps to sit beside the man who had shrunk into himself. It was almost comical how much this bothered Cicero inside, and Vayne almost felt sorry for him. His madness was enough to contend with on a daily basis he was sure, but to keep an unwavering loyalty in between was admirable. At least he would admit to his wrong doings, which Vayne couldn't really say for any of the others. 

Cicero twirled the Ring of Matrimony on his finger like a nervous habit. “Please tell Cicero what he must do to be punished. He is so very sorry for upsetting you.”

“Listen to me.” Vayne slipped a hand beneath Cicero's chin and pulled his head up to look him in the eye. “Speak properly or you will anger me further. I didn't marry a child.”

“I – I am sorry, Listener.”

“Call me Vayne.”

“Vayne...”

“As for your punishment, I require only one thing from you.”

“Anything!”

Vayne was amazed at how quickly the jester could anger him, but at the same time his very presence calmed him. A small smile crept across the Dragonborn's face as he slid a thumb up to caress Cicero's bottom lip before drifting up to remove the jester's hat. Cicero watched it fall to the bed as if it were some precious treasure he couldn't bear to lose, causing the dark elf to laugh. “One would believe you care for that thing more than you do me.”

“It is very precious to... me.”

“Good, you're trying.” Vayne ran his hand through the soft hair beneath the hat, smoothing it out to lie at the sides of Cicero's head. “You're a good looking man without it.”

“Oh, please. Do not make me be rid of it.”

“I would not ask that of you, but when we are here in this room, I want you to take it off.” 

“Cicero – I – can do that.”

“Good.” Vayne slid his other hand up to rest at the side of Cicero's face. “Now, the one thing I require from you. Can you guess it?”

“I can endure any painful punishment you desire, Listener.”

The words sent a pleasant tickle through Vayne's stomach. He knew the jester hadn't meant them in that way, but he couldn't control what his repressed mind wanted to hear. He had gone so long neglecting his own primal needs and instead pursued adventure, danger, and sleepless nights filled with cheap wine. The time just wasn't there to consider anything of his desires, nor had he even bothered to think about them. His mind was on the next quest, the next dragon to slay, and the next person to aid in his adventures. 

But now that he was able to rest and had settled down for reasons he still had to sort out in his own mind, he found his body screaming to finally answer that burning question. As a dark elf, what were his desires, and with who did he want to express them? Obviously, with how he had been acting like a teenage boy around the jester, he'd found his answer. Rather Cicero was just in the right place at the right time or he truly had lost his mind, Vayne had found his chance to explore other things.

“Nothing so painful. A simple kiss is all I ask.” He watched with amusement as the jester became suddenly flustered. He most likely wasn't sure if he should accept or deny such an odd punishment for something more appropriate. 

“If that is what you ask, Listener.” Cicero leaned in to press his lips against Vayne's shortly, his mouth complying as the dark elf coaxed them open with his tongue. After a time they parted, Vayne's hand still resting on the side of the jester's face. 

“Once more.” Desire was burning deep within the dark elf as Cicero leaned in to kiss him again. His hand crept around to the back of the jester's head to deepen the kiss, pressing his lips harder as he placed his other hand on Cicero's shoulder. Before he knew what he was doing, Vayne had fallen back onto the bed and pulled Cicero with him, the kiss resuming with as much need as it had before.

Vayne bit Cicero's lip hard and the jester pulled away as the pain surprised him. For a moment he seemed nervous and unsure as he hovered over the dark elf. “Does my Listener require another?”

“I require you to call me Vayne, and there is much more I would ask.” The dark elf slid his hands around to the back of Cicero's costume. “We have yet to engage in the proper proceedings of a marriage.”

“But we've had the ceremony, the kiss. What more is there?”

“I know you aren't so innocent, Cicero. You weren't always this mad, were you?” Vayne's hands fumbled to undo the fastenings at the back of the jester's costume, pulling it down slowly in his success. 

“Cicero can't remember... before...” The jester seemed to be struggling with something and closed his eyes, his mind working in circles. Something lit a spark at the sight within Vayne, and he knew then how to tame the lunacy. He had to get Cicero to remember.

“Think. When did you join the Brotherhood?” Vayne pulled the costume down to the jester's hips before ghosting his fingers over a surprisingly broad chest. “How did it all begin?” He brushed a nail across a nipple and gained a quiet gasp from the man above him. 

“Cicero is as Cicero has always been. Cicero is the laughter.”

“You are a man. Need I remind you of that?” Vayne smirked as another flick of his nail caused Cicero to twitch. “This body is Cicero the man – not the jester you murdered in cold blood.”

“His laughter and his cries.” Cicero seemed to be in ecstasy at the memory alone. He closed his eyes and smiled. “The Night Mother's gift to me – the gift of laughter and a friend! No longer silence in the void!”

“Before the silence...” The dark elf pushed on Cicero's chest to sit them both upright, the jester now straddling Vayne's thighs as the dark elf began to remove his armor. “Before the laughter haunted you, who were you?”

“Cicero is dead!” The jester's eyes shone dangerously as he stared at Vayne. He was becoming uncomfortable as his tone sharpened. “Cicero is reborn!”

“Cicero is not dead!” The dark elf set his hand at the back of the jester's head and pulled him into a hard kiss. He was surprised at how aggressive Cicero had become and knew he had struck a nerve. He groaned as the man bit his lip and dived in for more, the jester acting as if he were starving for affection. Cicero then broke out into a fit of giggles against the dark elf's lips, causing Vayne to draw back and quirk an eyebrow. “No. I wish to taste the lips of the man, not the madness.”

Cicero whined and tried to move in for another kiss only to be denied. “You cannot kiss madness, silly Listener, but you may kiss Cicero.”

“Then I will have to stop the laughter. Lay back.” Vayne watched as Cicero obeyed, laying back on the bed with a troubled expression. Satisfied, he crawled over the jester, shedding the man of the last of his clothing along with his own. The jester really was just a man beneath it all with everything as it should have been. Although the jester did not blush, his body was reacting appropriately to Vayne's caresses as the dark elf ran his hands down the expanse of smooth, pale skin. For a moment he didn't even feel like he was looking at the man he married, but at someone else entirely. Someone who had once been one of the greatest and most trusted assassins. The Imperial. 

Vayne ran his lips down the muscles lining the man's stomach and further still, stopping just above his waist to gauge his reaction. Cicero huffed a laugh and threw an arm above his head. “Naughty Listener, such places you dare to touch on your loyal Cicero.”

“I dare to do much more than that.” The dark elf dived lower and engulfed him, delighting in the loud moan that came from above. There was no sense in hiding it anymore, and the only two that really mattered already knew their secret. This was just a matter of flourish; the jester could be as loud, or louder than, he wanted. The very idea that everyone could hear the mess he was making of Cicero set him on fire. He would make a man out of him again.

“Listener,” Cicero breathed heavily, his eyes open wide toward the ceiling as his body became consumed with need. “You seek to – to drive me – further into – madness!”

“And to release it.” The dark elf teased Cicero with his mouth until the man was rocking his hips at a rhythm, the sounds coming from him unhinged. Impatient, Vayne crawled back up Cicero's body and rocked his hips into the eager ones below him, their bodies moving together as dark emerald skin met with flawless white. He leaned into the jester and bit his neck, licking the small wound before trailing back to the lips he'd grown addicted to, their kiss slow and drunk with the pleasure coiling in their stomachs. 

“Listener, I feel as if – as if I were going to break – break into pieces!”

“Not yet, my Cicero.” Vayne halted his movements and slid two fingers into the man's mouth, swirling them around his tongue before trailing them down to ease him open. A strong hand came up to clamp over Vayne's bicep as he moved his fingers slowly.

“Yes, your Cicero. Always your Cicero.” It was like praising a puppy. The dark elf's fingers pushed deep inside, further stroking the man's ego as he came undone. He could no longer speak let alone laugh. He was right where Vayne wanted him.

The dark elf removed his fingers and lifted Cicero's legs, easing himself inside as he watched the man beneath him arch his back. As he thrust slowly he moved his hand to coax Cicero back to the edge, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder until he became lost in the sensations, his hands falling onto the fur blanket as he rocked the bed into the stone floor. Cicero's cries as he spilled over the edge echoed in the hollow room. 

Vayne rocked his body into the hard wood as he thrust deeper, his own release quickly approaching. He leaned up to glance at Cicero's face before spilling into him. The madness had gone if only for a moment to be replaced with raw human emotion, the man that Vayne had never been able to see until then. As he rode out his high he silently vowed to bring out that man again, and again, and again.


End file.
